


Master Of The Kitchen

by Fatlockandfeeding, FatlocknDomJohn



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Dark Character, Fantasy, Fatlock, Forcefeeding, Gen, Magic, Torture, Weight Gain, dubcon elements, fat character(s), fat!Sherlock, noncon feeding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-06
Updated: 2014-09-06
Packaged: 2018-02-16 08:17:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2262510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fatlockandfeeding/pseuds/Fatlockandfeeding, https://archiveofourown.org/users/FatlocknDomJohn/pseuds/FatlocknDomJohn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fatlockndomjohn and I did an RP together. I wanted to try my hand at fantasy and this was born. The premise: Jim discovers a magical potion that causes instant weight gain and insatiable hunger. So he kidnaps Sherlock. This fic is DARK and has shifty POV's since it's an RP. </p>
<p>Enjoy!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Master Of The Kitchen

Jim smiled gleefully to himself as he put the steaming bacon cheeseburger and the golden pile of chips onto a large porcelain plate, in haling deeply as the smell of the delicious food wafted up and into his nostrils. After a week without food, even the great Sherlock Holmes wouldn't be able to resist this feast. Jim paused for a few moments, looking at the food in admiration, and then he pulled out a small green bottle, full of a cloudy liquid. He sprinkled it generously over the food, and then capped it, putting it back into his inside pocket and picking up the plate.

 

Sherlock was in a basement room of one of Jim's buildings, and Jim made his way slowly down there, pausing and smiling at the sight of the consulting detective, weak with hunger and hunched up on the dirty mattress Jim had left for him. "Oh my," he murmured, "you don't look good, Sherly. Dear deary me." He set the food down on the floor a few feet away from the detective, and then took a seat, watching the man with determined eyes. "Eat up," he said in his sing-song voice, "it's allllllllll for you."

 

Sherlock had considered jumping up, lunging at the smaller, cruel, teasing man that for so many days had treated him like a plaything - but the small afterburners on his neck, each one laid precisely on top of one another, had taught him that any hope of a physical encounter would not go in his favour.

 

He'd been given water, sparingly, after his first two days of refusing anything brought to him. The detective's mind palace was...fuzzy. Crumbling at the foundation in some areas, mimicking the bruises and cuts his own transport had suffered.

 

Hearing that voice, that mocking, saccharine happiness that always seemed to flow like honey whenever Jim, personally, brought him temptations, made Sherlock uncurl himself from his position on the floor.

 

The detective sat up, pushing himself from mattress on shakey, skeletal arms until he could lean back against the wall.

 

His vision swam for a moment. His eyes looking sunken in, cheeks hollow. Sherlock panted for a moment, willing himself to stay conscious.

 

He swallowed, his throat a dry lump, and folded his hands into his lap, the purple shirt above and the dark slacks below dirty and slightly torn, and said with as much dignity as he could muster -

 

"No, thank you."

 

Jim chuckled and and picked up the plate of greasy, succulent food and waved it in front of Sherlock's face, allowing the scent to waft into the starving man's nostrils. "Oh come onnnnn," he said teasingly, "you /dying/ in here won't do you any good, you'll never get back to your dearest doctor then, will you?" He set the plate back down, and then picked up a glistening chip, holding it in front of the starving man's mouth. He was too weak to fight him now, and besides, Jim had the taser ready in his pocket.

 

"One little bite," he whispered, "and then we can talk. One little bite and we'll talk about how you can get out of here, hmm?"

 

Jim knew that one little bite would be enough. According to the medicine man he'd found in his travels, one bite was all it took, and then came the instant weight gain, and the food addiction, and the inability to walk away. This was Jim's plan, humiliate Sherlock so much and keep him so occupied that he would /never/ leave. In time, he'd forget that he ever wanted to.

 

Sherlock's stomach roared at the smell of such delectable, high-calorie food sitting right in front of him, but the detective shut his mouth tighter, like a petulant child

 

But as Jim kept speaking some desperate, starving part of his mind pushed at him. Maybe Jim was was telling the truth, he just to play by the rules of his game, maybe he'd-

 

Sherlock's mouth fell open, ever so slightly. The detective made no move forward, but those cupid's bow lips parted just enough to-

 

Jim shoved the fried potato into Sherlock's mouth, and then stepped back, knowing that the man was so starving he would chew and swallow the starchy food without thinking. Then he sat back on his chair and watched with satisfaction as Sherlock groaned and picked up another chip.

 

"Is it good, Sherlock?" he cooed, "Try some of the burger, it's perfect, medium rare, with sharp cheddar and crispy smoky bacon. /Perfect/." He watched gleefully as Sherlock ate, and then pulled out his phone, telling his personal chef to prepare more food and leave it at the top of the stairs. Because Sherlock would want more soon enough.

 

The taste was...unbelievable. It must have come from just how hungry the detective was, that's all. Sherlock nearly rocketed forward, greedily grabbing handfuls of the plates greasy, salty delights, stuffing them into his mouth with abandon, moaning lightly around the pure pleasure that rocketed through his emaciated form as he did

 

Jim told him to try the burger, and a few alarm bells in the detective's head sounded, but none enough to stop him. Streams of the beef's rich juices dribbled down the detective's chin, Sherlock now sputtering in an attempt to both breath and just keep /eating/.

 

When the plate was empty Sherlock grabbed at it, licking up any small traces of ketchup and grease his meal might have left behind.

 

Fall back, the detective's thin stomach bloated, overfilled to a point of pain, Sherlock rocketed out a loud, wet belch - one that shook the walls of his cell.

 

He panted, groaning and rubbing at his aching tummy, the gears in his head spinning rapidly.

 

"W-what was...what did you *hiccup* do to me!?" The detective moaned, his lower lip quivering. He needed more, wanted to more, but...but something was wrong! Something was...

 

"Nothing," Jim said innocently, "it's just that you haven't eaten in days, hmm? Although I can't say I approve of your manors, Piggy. Disgusting, belching and licking at your plate." Jim smirked. "If you were hungry for more, you should have just said so." Jim stood and made his way up the stairs, where his chefs had left a huge tray of food outside the door. An entire pizza, a tub of ice cream, and a huge serving bowl of spaghetti with bolognese sauce. Jim sprinkled a little more of the potion on each, and then brought them downstairs, setting them down in front of Sherlock.

 

He noticed a slight pooch of the man;s stomach where bloat was already turning into fat, but he didn't plan on mentioning it until Sherlock did. He couldn't wait to see the man's face when he made that discovery. "Eat up, little piglet," he said softly.

 

"N-no. I-I don't want any more!" The detective whimpered. His stomach growling again as a little mound of fat wiggled its way onto his once-concave lower tummy.

 

"And d-dont call me that!" Sherlock shouted, flushing bright red as his captor teased him

 

His mouth watered at the food set before him, and a quivering hand reached out, before quickly pulling back. He wasn't hungry. He wasn't hungry. He wasn't-

 

Sherlock snatched up two slices of pizza, jamming bites of both into his gluttonous maw in alternating streams until they were both gone, this continued with two more, then two more, the detective's once-firm abs plumping up into a small, gentlemanly pot belly.

 

The detective's eyes went wide, and he threw done the last slice as if it burned, ashamed and frightened at his lack of control. He panted, heavily. Huffing and puffing around small hiccups and burps, grease and red-sauce staining his small, plump lips

 

Jim grinned and stalked forward, placing his hand on the man's taut belly, which was already coated in a small layer of fat, "Well lookey here," he murmured, pressing and massaging the round mass until he forced another burp out of Sherlock, "somebody';s on their way to becoming a hog already." As the bloating went down, Jim was filled with a thrill when he actually _felt_ it soften and turn into fat.

 

He gave Sherlock's belly a small pinch, and then picked up the final slice of pizza, holding it to the man's lips and rubbing it over them gently. "Eaaaat," Sherlock," he cooed, "eat uuuup." The potbelly was great, but Jim wanted to see it spread to the rest of him. He wanted to see the detective _squirm._

 

Sherlock flushed beet red, squawking in indignation as Jim touched his...his...Sherlock gulped... _fattening_ middle. But his outrage soon turned to soft coos as the touch felt just...

 

Amazing.

 

Sherlock shook his head fiercely. His pleasure centres were firing at full blast as Jim touched him, as his belly churned, as his lips felt more food on them.

 

There was panic in his eyes, but Sherlock couldn't stop himself.

 

He opened his mouth, letting Jim feed him.

 

"That's it," Jim murmured, "good little piggy. Who's my fat little porker?" When Sherlock was done with the last of the pizza he picked up the tub of ice cream, shoving spoonful after spoonful into the detective's mouth, grinning in pleasure as he watched the man's belly swell and dome out.

 

"If you're a good little piggy," Jim soothed, "and you eat allll of this ice cream, I'll rub your fat gut for you before you have to eat the pasta. Would you like that, Podgy? Does that sound nice?" Sherlock's buttons were straining on his shirt, and his trouser button was protesting too. Jim's eyes lit up as he shovelled more and more food into Sherlock's mouth.

 

Sherlock blushed bright red.

 

He felt his thighs thickening, spreading out across the hard concrete until the slightly touched. His bottom, rounding out beneath him, every passing second making the floor feel more and more comfortable. The detectives belly was the real prize. It spread forward, swelling up like break dough until the smooth, pale expanse stretched out his shirt buttons.

 

It was all so...mortifying. Sitting there, eating more and more, barely tasting as he swallowed down everything given to him, Jim's sugar-sweet voice licking washing over him.

 

So...why was he so aroused? So..pleased? H-he _wanted_ to be Jim's good hog, his sweet piggy. And a tummy rub from his...from his master...sounded so wonderful.

 

Sherlock opened his mouth, wide, giving a small nod. His eyes open, trusting...

 

Innocent.

 

His tummy gurgled, angrily, and Sherlock let out a small whine, but kept his mouth open, wanting to eat more, wanting to get rubs and affection.

 

"Ohhhh good boy," Jim muttered, as Sherlock ate the last of the ice cream, he set aside the empty tub, and pushed Sherlock back onto his back, humming happily, "look at how fat and swollen you're getting, Sherly. Does it feel nice, hmm?" He pushed his hands into Sherlock's swollen stomach, and pushed down, groaning as Sherlock's belly softened beneath his hands. Then he slid his hands lower and squeezed the man's plush and growing thighs. "You're going to burst out of these trousers soon, hmm? How does that feel, Fatty?"

 

He pushed and prodded and poked, grinning in delight when he found Sherlock's growing arse, and he slapped it enthusiastically. "God, you're a hog. Sit back up so I can feed you your pasta, piglet."

 

Sherlock gave small, pleased hums as his master explored his body. He /was/ getting fat. He was swelling out bigger ans bigger. He was happy that his master was so pleased and-

 

N-no!!! He is Sherlock Holmes, the world's only Consuting Detective! He wasn't...wasn't...

 

Sherlock giggled as his bottom was given a firm slap, the flesh jiggling and wobbling under the strained fabric

 

Obediently he tried to roll back up but...but...

 

The detective's long-lost abs muscles couldn't do anything, were unable to move a suddenly /much/ heavier, much /fatter/ form

 

Sherlock give a small whimper, worrying Ji-worrying his master would be mad at him

 

"C-cant get up! F-feels good! Feels *hiccup* very good!" Sherlock said, nervously

 

Sherlock struggled again to sit up, his round, bulbous gut jiggling and wobbling with the strain, thighs kicking, the thick, creamy fat shaking madly at his attempts.

 

Jim laughed out loud and slapped Sherlock's belly hard, before taking a fat hand and tugging him up, grunting a bit as he did so. "Time for more fooood, Fat Boy." He squeezed Sherlock's fat hips and and then reached under his chin. "Your face is still so thin, piggy. I want to see you get a nice, fat double-chin."

 

He twirled a bite of pasta onto the fork and stuffed a bite into Sherlock's mouth, and then absent-mindedly licked a drop of sauce off of his own thumb. Mmm. His chef had done well today. He stuffed Sherlock with more pasta, occasionally taking a bite for himself, and watched in satisfaction as Sherlock continued to fatten and grow.

 

Sherlock let out a small yelp, bring his pale hands to the pink, hand-sized mark on his sensitive tummy.

 

The slap was enough to jolt a bit of sense into him, and he look momentarily confused when Jim stuffed him full of more pasta, a small look of horror dawn on his face.

 

D-double chin? But that'd be so bi-

 

His thoughts were quickly quieted as more and more of the rich, delicious pasta made its way into him, less and less as the plate went on, his master seemingly quite distracted with the flavours itself. This time it was Jim who started licking greedily at his empty plate, red sauce covering the criminal's face.

 

Sherlock pondered this for a moment, thoughts hazy as he noted all their food was gone.

 

His master surely needed more.

 

"Mmmm," Jim wiped his face with the back of his hands, not noticing the growing potbelly on his frame, and then he looked down at Sherlock, and groaned. God, he was getting so big. Not quite as big as Jim wanted him to get, but getting there. His gut was starting to hang, and his bottom was becoming a huge, fatty pair of orbs. His hips were enormous too, and now the fat was starting to spread to his chest and arms.

 

Jim's stomach rumbled, and he reached over and caressed Sherlock's face. "I think we need something else to eat, hmm? Look down at yourself, piggy. Since you're being such a good pig, I'll let you pick what you want to eat next."

 

Sherlock grinned, flushing lightly at all the attention. He squirmed a little nervously

 

"C-cake." He said, still looking down, some part of his mind taking in the small, round orb on Jim's once trim torso, stretching the now ill-fitting suit to its seams.

 

"Chocolate...please" Sherlock murmured, distractedly fascinated by his massive tummy, poking at it lightly. He...he had a thought about it...something important.

 

His tummy gurgled again lightly

 

"Good boy." Jim slapped Sherlock's belly again, and then texted his chefs, and then set about climbing up the stairs to collect it. He'd had them pre-make several cakes, so it was already waiting for him when he got up there. Knowing that the potion's affects wore off after a while, although not the weight gained from it, he sprinkled the cake with yet more of the mysterious liquid, absently eating fingerfulls of frosting on his way back downstairs.

 

He set the cake in front of Sherlock, and handed him a fork. "Eat up, piggy. I want to see you get so fat you wouldn't recognise yourself if you looked in the mirror. Go on, fat boy." Jim's belly rumbled, and he frowned, texting his chefs for another cake, this one strawberry. It wouldn't do for him to neglect his own appetite simply because he was attending to Sherlock. "By the time I get back," he said, starting up the stairs, "I expect to see a third of that cake gone, fatty."

 

Sherlock giggled lightly as Jim prodded at his big, fat belly, but felt his lip quiver when he watched his master go.

 

He sat in silence for a moment, worried he'd never come back, his usually lightning fast brain only able to grasp onto so many thoughts

 

He beamed at Jim's return, stretching his softening arms out excitedly. He ignored the fork, picking a slice of the cake itself and simply jamming it into his greedy mouth, cheeks bulging and tummy gurgling happily at its new source of calories

 

But then Jim was getting up again, and moving toward the stairs

 

"Leave?" Sherlock said, sounding distraught, his usually, immense vocabulary escaping him under the haze of whatever Jim had given him. "Stay, please." Sherlock asked, sweetly.

 

The detective looked about for a moment, extending a piece of his own, treasured cake at his clearly starving master, knowing Jim wouldn't be able to resist. The detective's brain was still turning, processing facts it wasn't even aware of. With Jim having consumed the food he was giving to Sherlock, a tiny part of his otherwise numb brain rationalized, he'd be unable to resist food.

 

Sherlock stretched his arm a bit further, showing just how enticing the treat was.

 

Jim's mouth watered, and before he knew what he was doing he leaned down and took a bite of the cake, more and more, stuffing himself until his gut was domed and huge and round, and all of the cake was gone. He groaned and put a hand to his belly, and then gasped when he felt the stuffed, tight flesh soften and jiggle under his hand.

 

"You STUPID PIG!" He screamed, before slapping Sherlock's belly again, and texting his chefs and having them bring down the next cake personally, as well as a variety of other sweets and dishes. He took the bottle and poured what was left of the potion all over everything, before placing two cakes in front of Sherlock. "Eat them both. NOW."

 

He himself sat down with a large plate of biscuits, and began to work his way through them, moaning as his gut rounded out and a button pinged off his straining shirt.

 

Sherlock was happy to see his master eat, he clearly needed it the way he gobbled up the treat. But then he was being hit, and Sherlock let out a small cry, covering his sensitive tummy as it was aggressively slapped.

 

Sherlock whimpered lightly, his lip quivering. He didn’t know why he was being shouted at, didn’t know why his mas-...why Jim was so upset. Sherlock shook his head again, the pain making things slightly clearer

 

James Moriarty, consulting criminal, had ballooned a bit as well, a big, round, jiggling gut hovering just in front of him. Sherlock gritted his teeth, avoiding the temptation to stuff himself full of more sweets

 

He huffed and puffed, moving himself to a kneeling position, his huge gut hanging before him, a top it sitting two smaller mounds of fatty flesh

 

"I..I think this pig has had enough to eat, b-but its time to make a _real_ hog." Sherlock smirked, moving the cakes closer to Jim

 

"Come on then piggy, don’t you want to be as big a me?" Sherlock teased, watching the criminal, who mere minted ago was rail thin, bloat bigger and bigger, as he winced under the waning effects of the potion.

 

Jim blinked. "Wh-what? /No/. This isn't how it w-" His words were silenced when Sherlock fed him a piece of cake, and he groaned, eating greedily as his body expanded and fattened, most of it staying in his gut to begin with, which swelled and grew and began to hang. But by the time they'd gotten onto the second cake, Jim's arse was starting to spread over the sides of the chair as well.

 

Jim paused, and let out a huge, wet belch, followed by a few smaller ones, before opening his mouth again, obediently, his plump arms resting atop his vast gut. His master was good to him, his master was going to feed him more.


End file.
